


more to lose than gain

by spikenard



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, TRC exchange 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikenard/pseuds/spikenard
Summary: He stood up gracefully, and flashed Declan a smile. It made him look approachable.Cheng had as carefully and masterfully manufactured a public face as Declan himself did.





	more to lose than gain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenRiza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenRiza/gifts).



> Pinch-hit fill for TRC Exchange 2017.
> 
> Happy Holidays, Chloe! Hope you enjoy this. It is... not holiday-themed at all.

“Not right now, Cheng,” Declan said, without looking up. “Unless you want to unplug the projector?” 

Cheng obliged, easily enough, and still didn’t leave. Declan didn’t even know why he was here; he was Canadian. Why he had chosen to stop by this meeting of the Young Democrats was absolutely beyond Declan.

Declan was having a hard time fitting his transparencies back into their accordion folder without them smudging. Everyone else had already filtered out of the room: it was summer, and classes let out early on club days. Most people would probably spend the rest of the afternoon milling about on the quad, or throwing a frisbee around the football field. 

Declan was supposed to be meeting with one of Seondeok’s men across town in less than half an hour, and he still had to stop by his dorm room and pick up his gun. It was the first time he’d met one of them in person — up until now, all his business negotiations with Seondeok had been conducted long-distance, the in-person drop-offs quick and professional. 

Declan finally got his transparencies into their file, and his folder into his bag, and glanced up. Cheng was still standing next to the projector. His hands were shoved into his pockets, the lumps of his fists destroying the line of his pants. 

Cheng wore the school uniform just like everyone else did, in that he wore clothes which adhered to the student handbook’s definitions. But all of his clothes were outrageously expensive, probably tailored, and Cheng didn’t take especial care with them. It was the level of unstudied, thoughtless wealth to which Declan’s father had aspired, and into which boys like Gansey and Cheng had been born. At Declan’s look, he rocked on his heels, polite and immovable.

“You have to unplug it from the wall,” Declan said, dismissively; he had just pulled the cord out of the projector. 

Faintly, Declan wondered if he’d be able to make his escape while Cheng did so; the projector had been plugged into the wall and was now blockaded by at least a dozen desks and chairs shoved back against the wall. 

He didn’t bother, though. Henry dropped to his knees next to the desk pile in an easy, practiced motion, and then reached an arm close enough to the wall that he could unplug the wire with a sharp tug. 

He stood up gracefully, and flashed Declan a smile. It made him look approachable. 

Cheng had as carefully and masterfully manufactured a public face as Declan himself did. 

“Can I help you with something?” Declan said, finally. “Because I have somewhere to be, I can’t really stand around and chit-chat.” 

“No,” Cheng said.

Declan said, “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me —” and Cheng talked over him. 

“No, you don’t have anywhere to be. _This_ is your meeting.” 

###

The worst part, Declan thought, of inheriting his father’s business — aside from the constant threat of death, the constant awareness that he was in deeply over his head, the knowledge that everyone else had settled into the long game and he was a pitcher thrown out onto the field halfway through the seventh inning with no time to warm up, and — to extend the metaphor somewhat further than it could really manage to go — no actual ability to throw pitches — aside from all that, the worst part was this fucking bullshit. 

Declan was good at this, by now. He was careful and cautious. He was an adult, and had been doing this for some time before he had become one; he had more cumulative experience in this business than many of the people he sold to. 

On top of that: he was graduating in a month and a half, and had a summer internship lined up in DC before he started at Georgetown. He always had an extraordinarily beautiful girlfriend, and he even kind of liked the current one. He had a _career plan_. He had, without any help, and certainly no family support, designed a way in which he could remove himself from the family business, and do something to which he was actually suited. 

The fact that he was only suited for politics because he had grown up the way he did, with the father and the mother and the brothers that he had, was not something he preferred to consider.

Declan’s ability to do this job had, thus far, mostly been reliant on moving slowly. His ability to pre-screen potential customers was his first line of defense. This was necessary to run any business, but especially considering the high — or at least _urgent_ — demand of Declan’s clientele. Declan was running a dealership with no supplier, a limited cache of product, and no recourse to the law should things go south. 

###

That didn’t mean he was an idiot, though, or that he wasn’t quick on his feet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Declan said flatly. “I’ve really got to be going or I’ll be late.”

He didn’t have any proof at all that Henry Cheng, of all people, was Seondeok’s man on the ground; he didn’t even have any reason to believe that Cheng wasn’t just pestering Declan for his time for some reason of his own, and just saying whatever he thought might get Declan to stay. 

Briefly, Declan wondered if Cheng had been trying to make a pass at him; it made more sense than a criminal sending a teenager to do her illegal business. 

“You know my mother, I think,” Cheng said. He had his hands back in his pockets, and he was slouching a little in an attempt to make himself the same height as Declan. He looked like he was trying to seem nonthreatening; unfortunately, Declan considered that more dangerous than the sort of macho posturing he was usually forced to engage in.

“I don’t think I do,” Declan said, still guarded, but mind whirring. 

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes as he stood back up to his full height. He was as tall as Ronan, a few inches taller than Declan, and his hair made him look taller still. 

“Look,” Henry said. “Let’s not do this whole… thing.” He had waved a hand vaguely between them as he spoke, and kept talking before Declan could respond. “My mother is Seondeok. Your father was Niall Lynch. You’ve been doing business with Seondeok for nearly a year, but she has things to take care of back home and can’t be flying out to America twice a year to pick up her purchases from you. So you can hand things off to me, now, and I’ll take them back to my mother when I go home over break.” 

Declan couldn’t square it. Cheng was old to be in Ronan’s year — he had raised his hand at the Young Democrats meeting when Declan had asked who was already eighteen — but he was still younger than Declan. He was loud and flashy, and flamboyant, and Declan could not imagine Seondeok — whom he respected and nearly even liked — raising a child like this, nevermind trusting him to break the law for her. 

He did not think Henry Cheng was dangerous. He was quite certain he could beat him in a fight, but then again: he would never have believed that Henry was related to Seondeok if he hadn’t just implied a great deal of familiarity with Declan’s world, and there was the possibility that Henry was dangerous, after all, or that Niall had sold Seondeok something dangerous before Declan had taken over, and that she had passed it on to him. 

Declan wished he had had the chance to stop by his dorm room, and he wished they weren’t on campus. It would have been nice to have the assurance that, should Henry start a fight with him, Declan would be able to end it. Most likely, that was why Henry had chosen to meet him here, instead of at their agreed drop point. It was common sense, and Declan resentfully respected the decision.

“Prove it,” Declan said.

**Author's Note:**

> fic title from OUTSIDER by marina. thanks to @goodbyechunkylemonmilk for declan consulting.  
> [here](http://spikenards.tumblr.com/post/169700110609/)'s a link to this fic on tumblr!


End file.
